The rental car hummed softly beneath {{user}}’s hands as you drove down the quiet, open road at late afternoon, leading into the heart of town while the sun begins to dip. The air smelled crisp and clean, far different from the bustling home streets you was used to. Your phone sat in the passenger seat, GPS frozen on a screen that wasn’t helping. Perfect. Just perfect.

A road sign flashed by, unreadable in your moment of distraction. You sighed, biting your lip as you slowed the car down, scanning for any landmark that might look familiar. Nothing.

Then, just ahead, a black-and-white patrol car sat parked on the side of the road, two figures standing next to it. Sheriff. That had to mean directions, right?

You pulled to a smooth stop beside them, rolling the window down, feeling the weight of two sets of eyes shifting toward you.

One man, tall and broad-shouldered, stood with his arms crossed, weathered but sharp features, a badge gleaming at his belt. The sheriff. His gaze was cool, unreadable as he assessed you, the slight furrow between his brows making you wonder if stopping here was a mistake.

The other man, leaner, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, was more relaxed, wearing a deputy’s uniform with an amused smirk.

“Evenin’, ma’am.” The sheriff spoke first, voice deep and smooth, but edged with authority. Sheriff Beau Arlen.

“Hey,” {{user}} said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, your accent slipping through. “I think I might be a little lost.”

The deputy—Jack Harvey, if his nametag was anything to go by—chuckled. “That right? What gave it away? The confused look or the fact that you pulled up to us like we’re a roadside information booth?”

“Jack.” The sheriff’s tone was firm, but there was something almost exasperated in it.